


Soldier of Fortune

by papermoontrick (chrofeather)



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Assassination Attempt(s), Gen, Guns, Kidnapping, Winter Soldier AU, seungri is an assassin but everyone else is not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-19 15:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19359700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrofeather/pseuds/papermoontrick
Summary: V.I. merely watches his target for a moment, observing his motions and the passionate way he dances across that stage. Through the high-powered scope V.I. can discern the sheen of sweat on his skin. He remembers what he read in the briefing, that this group was some popular band kicking off a tour. Someone higher up thought that having one of them killed would be a good way to stir up some good old-fashioned terror in the people of the South. The unfortunate target was G-Dragon, the group’s leader, beloved by fans and respected by many a business mogul as well.He’s young, has a lot going for him. V.I. almost feels sorry for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I found this while going through my fanfic folder and figured I'd post it. This was written a while back and was originally meant to be a longer fic, but I've long since forgotten where I was going with it, lol. So, enjoy it as a couple small snippets of an AU where Seungri is basically the Winter Soldier from the MCU, but works for the North instead of HYDRA. Also sort of inspired by that one drama that TOP was in where he was an assassin I guess?

The plane’s engines rumble as they prepare for takeoff, and sitting inside, V.I. can feel it through the floor. He just sits, because no one has told him to do otherwise, and stares blankly at the floor, as though there is something interesting there he can’t take his eyes off of. He’s all suited up in his black bodysuit and Kevlar fittings, ready for whatever the mission will throw at him. Not that he’s thinking about it. They’ll give him the details when he needs to know them.

 

A set of footsteps stop in front of him, and V.I. looks up for the first time. He doesn’t speak, just waits.

 

It’s his handler, Seon-deok. “You know the drill,” Seon-deok says with a nod.

 

V.I. does. He allows the man to tie a thick black cloth over his eyes, while noise-canceling headphones are fitted over his ears. In seconds, he’s plunged into the darkness and silence of a tomb. It doesn't bother him, though, not anymore. Standard procedure for an away mission. He isn’t allowed to know where they’re going, or where they’re coming from. The less he knows, the better, if he were to be captured.

 

V.I. focuses on his breathing, uncaring for once of the world around him. He feels the vibrations of the plane taking off through his palms and the bottoms of his feet, and for a few moments he feels the shudders pass through his whole body as the plane finally becomes airborne.

 

In his cocoon of thick dark silence, he waits.

 

He doesn’t know how much time has passed when the headphones and blindfold are finally removed, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the same daylight when they land as it was when they took off. No jet lag, at least.

 

V.I. is outfitted with standard, familiar gear. Two pistols at his hips, ammunition in his flak vest, a knife strapped to his thigh and two more hidden in his boots, stun grenades, EMP grenades, and the long sleek black sniper rifle they call the Widowmaker slung across his back.

 

He is told the details of his mission and the target, taking it all in with a few short nods. Seon-deok gives him a brief rundown of the situation and the target. A simple assassination, one intended to inflict more chaos than death. If all goes well, V.I. will only have to shoot once. One target, but mass chaos is the goal.

 

He is on the thirty-sixth floor of a hotel across the street from an outdoor concert venue in Seoul, waiting for his chance. Seon-deok had said he would know when the time was right. V.I. had only nodded and took his word for it.

 

Lying down on a table he had pulled up to the window, V.I. waits, staring down the sight of the Widowmaker out the open window. The concert is a big one, from the looks of it, with thousands of screaming fans waving lightsticks around and bright flares of pyrotechnics.

 

“Don’t get distracted now, Phantom,” Seon-deok’s voice comes through the comm in his ear. It’s hardly necessary, more of a habit at this point.

 

“Understood,” V.I. responds without inflection or hesitation. He knows what his objective is, and doesn't need reminding, but nothing ruffles him. In the back of his mind, he hates that codename.

 

“Your target is 173 centimeters tall, thin build, multiple tattoos, black hair, according to our most recent data,” Seon-deok says over the comm. V.I. knows; he had looked over the mission briefing file beforehand, but he lets Seon-deok talk. “Take him out, and the rest will take care of itself.”

 

“Just him?”

 

“That was the plan,” Seon-deok replies. “But if you wanna get creative, take a few non-lethal shots at the others. The resulting chaos will be more than enough.”

 

“Acknowledged.”

 

V.I. returns to staring down the scope, focusing the crosshairs on the stage and the four figures lit up in brilliant spotlight. He moves the crosshairs from person to person, carefully measuring each of them against the picture of the target he had built in his mind.

 

There are only two with black hair. One is tall and broad-shouldered, with a deep voice V.I. can hear booming through the mic even from his position. The other is slender, approximately the height described in the mission briefing, with tattoos visible on his forearms. He’s the one.

 

“Target acquired,” V.I. reports tonelessly, ignoring the audible screaming of the crowd and the blast of music from the concert. He keeps the man in his sight, watching him perform fearlessly on that brightly lit stage. Despite his small stature, he seems to command an enormous presence.

 

“Good,” Seon-deok says. “You know what to do from here, Phantom. Give them a good show.” He sounds almost too satisfied.

 

V.I. merely watches his target for a moment, observing his motions and the passionate way he dances across that stage. Through the high-powered scope V.I. can discern the sheen of sweat on his skin. He remembers what he read in the briefing, that this group was some popular band kicking off a tour. Someone higher up thought that having one of them killed would be a good way to stir up some good old-fashioned terror in the people of the South. The unfortunate target was G-Dragon, the group’s leader, beloved by fans and respected by many a business mogul as well.

 

He’s young, has a lot going for him. V.I. almost feels sorry for him.

 

He has a clean shot. G-Dragon is just standing there on stage, V.I.’s crosshairs pointed between his eyes. He could put a bullet through this guy’s skull and be done with it, as he has done so many times before, but… for some reason he hesitates.

 

The tension that V.I. hadn’t even realized was building up in his back and shoulders makes him nearly short of breath. His chest feels tight, and in his mind he sees the briefing document again with that name. G-Dragon. Kwon Jiyong.

 

V.I. is almost dizzy with déjà vu. But why? God, where has he heard that damn name before? It feels like it would be familiar on his tongue if he dared to speak it aloud.

 

He doesn’t realize he’s breathing heavy until Seon-deok’s voice crackles in his hear over the comm. “What’s going on up there, Phantom?” He sounds impatient.

 

“Waiting for a better angle.” It takes him only a fraction of a second to come up with the excuse, but Seon-deok knows better.

 

“Don’t fucking hesitate now, Phantom,” Seon-deok snaps. “You’ve got a shot, now take it.”

 

V.I. stares down the crosshairs, finger on the trigger. He’s broken out in a cold sweat.

 

“Take the shot, dammit!”

 

A memory flashes in V.I.’s mind’s eye, of a familiar laugh and a smile of someone he once called a brother. He pulls the trigger.

 

He watches the target stumble and go down, but V.I. knows immediately he isn’t dead. If he had hit his original mark, the pink-haired man next to him would have been splattered with blood and brains. But he’s not, and Kwon Jiyong is still alive.

 

V.I. makes a snap decision. He shuts off his comm, cutting off Seon-deok’s yelling in his ear, and packs up his gear with the efficiency of a commando. He’s made his own plan B.

 

The concert venue is in utter chaos, just as it is supposed to be. V.I. doesn’t bother with stealth and carves a path through the crowds with a few well-placed shots from the handguns holstered at his hips to get to the stage.

 

There are four young men at the right wing, looking utterly terrified as they stare at his masked, black-clad form. One of them is bleeding profusely from a bullet graze at his temple. V.I. silently commends his own skill; not close enough to cause any devastating, permanent damage but enough to scare him and possibly make people think he was dead. Not many people walked away from getting shot in the head. Especially not when V.I. was involved.

 

He points his sleek black pistol at the four of them. “Come with me.”

 

“Who the hell are you?” the tallest dares to ask, his dark eyes glittering fiercely. He looks angry, but V.I. knows he’s terrified.

 

“I’m a ghost.” He walks briskly over to the one with bangs that flop over his eyes, grabbing him by the arm and jamming the barrel of the gun into his ribs. “Walk.”

 

The other three don’t dare to argue with him, not when he has a gun on one of their own, and they follow him obediently to a black SUV abandoned in the parking lot. V.I. orders them into the back, and they comply, huddled like frightened rabbits in the backseat while their captor drives the car at breakneck speeds down the street leading away from the venue.

 

“Hey, slow down, dammit!” the tall one demands, wide-eyed. He’s got one arm around Jiyong, who is sluggish from blood loss, and the other bracing himself against the window as the car makes a sharp turn. “You’re going to kill us all!”

 

V.I. doesn't deign to reply, continuing to weave in and out of traffic as emergency sirens begin to blare in the distance. He was quick enough to beat out the emergency responders, and though cops will be swarming the venue looking for him, they’ll be spread thin searching the surrounding city. It will be time enough for him to make it over the border within the 24 hours his handlers will give him before they take action. Time enough for him to get some answers.

 

\--

 

He decides on an abandoned warehouse in Seoul as their temporary safe house. On the third floor, he has a good vantage point from which to keep watch, and a fortified place to hunker down behind concrete walls in case bullets start flying again.

 

Plus four terrified boy band members, who are his de facto hostages at this point. Seon-deok is going to be very, very angry about this, but V.I. doesn’t care. He’s too valuable for them to punish too severely. They still need him.

 

It takes some coaxing, but they allow V.I. to get close enough to bandage the graze on Jiyong’s temple with supplies from a medkit, pulled from one of the many pouches on his flak vest.

 

Jiyong winces when the antiseptic is applied, but sits obligingly still while V.I. bandages the wound. His dark eyes flick up to meet V.I.’s own. “Why did you do it?” His voice is surprisingly soft.

 

Expressionless behind the helmet that covers everything but his eyes, V.I. says nothing. He merely finishes securing the bandage and sits back, looking over his captives. Now that he thinks about it, he isn’t really sure what to do with them. He’s never been ordered to take anyone alive before.

 

Jiyong snorts quietly. “Not even going to show me your face, huh? Give me the opportunity to look my death in the face?”

 

V.I. blinks slowly. He’s never spoken to one of his targets before, and this is completely new to him. But it’s not unpleasant. He watches Jiyong intently, weighing his options.

 

It’s a complete violation of protocol, of course, but something in him _wants_ this, wants to face up to Jiyong’s implicit challenge. He hasn’t wanted something in a very long time.

 

V.I. reaches up without a word to unfasten the catch that secures the helmet at the back of his neck. It opens with a click, and he takes it off, shaking his head and letting a shock of platinum blond hair fall into his eyes. He brushes the bangs out of the way and stares almost challengingly at Jiyong, but it’s not quite the reaction he expects.

 

Jiyong is pale of a sudden, looking like he’s seen a goddamn ghost.

 

The other three are wearing similar expressions, and the pink-haired one swallows hard and makes the sign of the cross.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” the tall one breathes, eloquently.

 

“Language, Seunghyun,” the one with the bangs chastises quietly, though it’s more of a reflex than anything else.

 

V.I. frowns. He’s not sure if this reaction is good or not. What were they so aghast at? He wasn’t bad-looking, he knew. Lots of the staff back at base called him “pretty boy,” in fact.

 

Jiyong hasn’t taken his eyes off V.I. “…Seungri?” he says, weakly. It isn’t possible, he thinks. It can’t be.

 

V.I. blinks. “Who’s Seungri?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Found the other half!

“Seungri,” Jiyong begins again, with that name that V.I. doesn’t know. “Do you know who I am?” His tone is soft, almost pleading, even though he’s trying to sound calm.

 

V.I. stares intently at the man in front of him, willing himself to know. But it doesn’t come. There is no strange flash, no snippet of some distant memory like he felt when he was staring down that sniper rifle. “No,” he says finally.

 

Jiyong glances back at the other three. “Do you know who we are?” he asks, gesturing to them.

 

Not any more than the obvious, he doesn’t. “No,” he answers again, frowning. They’re acting like he should know, and it bothers him.

 

Jiyong swears under his breath.

 

“Dammit, Seungri, quit messing around!” the one called Seunghyun says suddenly, both angry and afraid. “What are you trying to pull?! What is all this?!”

 

“Don’t!” the one with the bangs hushes him.

 

“Daesung,” V.I. says out loud, his mind suddenly supplying a name. He points to the man next to Seunghyun. “Your name is Daesung.”

 

Daesung looks briefly shocked. “Yes,” he says after a moment, gently. “That’s my name, Seungri. Do… do you remember?”

 

V.I. doesn't answer him. “You’re Jiyong,” he says, looking towards the man he had tried to kill not two hours ago. He turns his gaze to the other two. “Seunghyun. Youngbae.”

 

It sounds like he’s talking to himself more than them.

 

“Seungri,” Jiyong says again, and his eyes are wet with tears. The next moment, his arms are wrapped tightly around V.I. in a hug.

 

V.I. stiffens, not knowing how to react. He quiets his survival instincts, knowing that Jiyong isn’t a threat. With his skinny frame, he looks like he can’t weigh more than a hundred and twenty pounds, soaking wet. Jiyong is… warm, though. V.I. can’t remember the last time he had contact with another human being like this. It makes something in him ache, something distant and half-remembered, and he is too afraid to dredge it up again.

 

He puts his hands on Jiyong’s shoulders and pushes him back to arm’s length, trying not to feel the warmth seeping into his hands from the contact. “My designation is VI-87746693,” he recites automatically. “I am a soldier. I can give you no other information than that which is immediately necessary.”

 

“Fuck that,” Jiyong spits, eyes fierce. “You’re not just some goddamn number! I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing, but it’s not funny!”

 

“I don’t think he’s playing around,” Daesung says quietly, looking from V.I. to Jiyong.

 

“Don’t you remember?” Jiyong pleads, regardless. “Your name is Lee Seunghyun, and you’re from Gwangju, and you wanted to be a singer!”

 

V.I. blinks. None of this makes sense. It’s not making sense like he wants it to. Not at all. Rather than answer the question, his gaze flicks to the tallest member of the group. “His name is Seunghyun.”

 

“We called you Seungri,” Daesung says softly, and his deep brown eyes are sad behind the curtain of his bangs. “Victory. Remember?”

 

Seeing the gentleness in Daesung’s eyes, he wishes he did.


End file.
